


Speculation

by Fightslikeagirl



Series: Aay'han and Other Stories of the Outer Rim [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Slice of Life, Talking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29035353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fightslikeagirl/pseuds/Fightslikeagirl
Summary: The backstory for Aay'han.They lead difficult lives, and they are difficult men, but somehow they make it work.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Series: Aay'han and Other Stories of the Outer Rim [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130117
Comments: 16
Kudos: 143





	1. Coconut Telegraph

**Author's Note:**

> Enough people commented that I'd caused emotional distress with Aay'han that I figured I would start posting the bits I wrote that came before it. How they got together, stayed together, and adopted any random kid they came across in the process. 
> 
> Will eventually be explicit.
> 
> Update schedule will be sporadic because my life is a mess.

Fennec watched the two men dancing around each other, amused despite herself. It had been two days since the Jedi took the Child, and Din was a ball of anxiety and misery. Bo-Katan had remained with the purloined ship, intent on removing trackers so it could be stowed somewhere for future use. She had studiously avoided the taller Mandalorian and the unanswered questions he posed, likely because she knew she would need his help to retake Mandalore. Cara, Fennec, Boba, and Din were on their way back to Navarro to turn over their cargo and hopefully use part of the bounty to buy Din a new ship. 

“So how many times have they done it since we’ve been on the ship?” Cara sipped her caf. The two women were in the cramped crew quarters of Slave I. 

“They haven’t.” Fennec picked at a bit of ration bar. “Sex before marriage is not something Mandalorians do, apparently. At least Boba made it very clear that it’s not something his branch tolerated. Apparently, he was once locked in a room with a half-dressed Leia Organa and he slept in his armor on the other side of the room with his back to her the entire time.” 

Cara raised an eyebrow and glanced up at the cockpit. “I suspect you or I would have a harder time resisting that temptation than he did.” 

Fennec shrugged. “He had a wife and child. They’re still alive, but he doesn’t know anything beyond that and wasn’t inclined to go looking for them. They ended things a long time ago.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything.” 

“True.” 

“What will you both do now?” 

“He has unfinished business on Tatooine with Bib Fortuna. I go where he goes, at least for the time being.” 

Cara nodded, starring into her caf. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” 

“I take it you don’t mean Boba.” Fennec sighed. “I don’t know. I wish he’d stay with us for a while, but I suspect he’ll go find whatever is left of the covert he was raised by. He is technically the Mand’alor, though he’s not particularly happy about it. It’s something to keep his head off of his child.” 

“I bet Boba could get his head off of a lot of things…” 

Fennec snorted. “I told you, not likely.” 

Cara got a strange look on her face. “Does his…can he even…after the Sarlacc?” 

Fennec raised an eyebrow. “As far as I know, but it’s not exactly like we discuss it.” 

“Okay yeah…fair.” 

“But…I did overhear the doctor tell him that his knees were going.” Fennec paused for a moment, lost in thought. “It’s the same doctor who saved me and helped with the cybernetics after he found me. She told him he’d have to have his knees fixed next time we came through, or they’d likely fail completely. She was telling him this sort of thing was going to keep happening since no matter how good the cloning process was, it always leaves genetic problems.” She looked up at Cara. “I’m hoping that if his plan comes together, we’ll have an easier life. He’ll have some kind of a retirement…even if it does mean we’ll have to take over the remains of the Hutt empire to do it.” 

“You’re secretly a sweetheart, Shand.” 

“I’m getting old. He’s getting old. We both cheated death once. You only have so much luck.” 

Cara tilted her head. “You do think they like each other, though?” 

“Oh, undoubtedly. But that was never the question. The question has always been whether they can get out their own way.”


	2. Son of a Son of a Sailor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet moment between Boba and Din before they reach Navarro

Boba Fett was not a particularly vain man. It was hard to be vain when a million other men had the same face. The acid from the sarlacc had, in some ways, made things easier. No one recognized him as a clone of his father anymore without the helmet and armor. The Imp computers might have recognized him in a scan, but average people never gave him a second look. He was just another stranger. Just another man, albeit one with some unpleasant scars on his face and no hair or eyebrows. 

He would never admit to being jealous that Shand and Dune and karking Bo-Katan had seen the Mando’s face, though of course there was a kernel of that in the pit of his stomach. He was also a bit frustrated he hadn’t been able to see the Child before he was whisked off by the Jedi. At his age he should have been well beyond that kind of jealousy. 

He was, most assuredly, not beyond it. 

Shand slid into the copilot’s seat and handed him a cup of caf and a ration bar. 

“Done gossiping with Dune?” 

She raised an eyebrow.

“You were down there for a while. I heard you both murmuring.” 

“Did you hear what we were murmuring about or are you fishing because you’re bored?”

He shrugged noncommittally. 

“We were just discussing next moves. Didn’t want to wake Mando since he seems like he finally passed out.” 

Boba raised an eyebrow, though the effect was lost somewhat without any actual hair on his eyebrows. “I hope he stays out until we get to Navarro. He didn’t sleep at all before.”

“Not that anyone could tell if he was dozing under that bucket.” 

“I could tell. So could the princess. He wasn’t sleeping.” He opened the ration bar and took a bite. 

Shand hesitated, and he waited, chewing. They were long past mincing words with each other, so if she was picking her words, it was important. 

“Are you going to ask him to stay with us to retake the palace?” That had definitely not been the question she wanted to ask. 

“I’ll offer, but what he does is up to him.” 

She nodded, looking out at the rush of hyperspace. “He’s older than I thought he’d be.” 

“How old did you think he was?”

“I don’t know…young. He’s so utterly ignorant of everything outside his Creed and the Child. Even regarding other Mandalorians and the history behind that mess. But from the glimpse I got…he’s in his thirties.” 

Boba swallowed the last of his ration around a lump in his throat. That was interesting information. The Mando being maybe ten years younger than his forty-one years meant he wasn’t having inappropriate thoughts about someone half his age, which made him feel better for some reason. “There are a lot of people like him. The kind who live their whole lives in the Outer Rim and never involve themselves in anything else. He probably would have spent his entire life hunting bounties and would never have known about any of this if he didn’t happen to cross paths with the Child. He’s not a man who particularly wants life to happen to him in big ways.” 

“And now he’s the rightful king of Mandalore.” 

Boba laughed. “And that will never not be amusing. I wish I’d been there to see her karking face… Of all the Mandalorians…” He took a swig of his caf. “Though if anyone is going to unite that bickering bunch of loth cats…” 

Shand nodded. “There is something…magnetic…about him. He’s so earnest.” 

“And he has the compulsion to look after any random child that crosses his path, which is the most Mandalorian trait imaginable.” 

She looked at him, amused. 

“I’m not a very good Mandalorian in a lot of ways.” 

Dune poked her head up into the cockpit. “What’s your most expired ration pack?” 

He and Fennec looked at each other for a moment, then back to Cara. “The green ones. They were in the storage compartment of the ship when we got it back. Why?” 

“Gideon is demanding food. I figure I’ll give him something nobody else is going to eat.” 

Boba nodded. “Good use.” 

Dune’s head vanished again. 

“You’ve been on shift a while. Go sleep. Use the fresher.” 

“Are you telling me I smell, Shand?” 

“I am telling you that you stink and you look terrible. Go sleep.” 

He grumbled but relinquished the controls to her. “Disrespected in my own ship by someone who wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for me.” 

“You saved my life so that someone would stick around and yell at you to sleep and eat so you don’t die of a heart attack at fifty.” 

He didn’t bother to dignify that statement with a response, just climbed down the ladder and walked past the galley. Boba deposited his armor in the sleeping pod that had been his since before Jango had died, then used the fresher. As he was coming out, he heard a small, pained noise coming from the upper bunk that Cara had been using earlier. He had heard her throwing ration bars at Gideon from the depths of the storage area, so the occupant had to be the Mando. 

Boba warred with himself for a long minute, then tapped lightly on the hatch. He heard shuffling, then it opened a few inches to show the beskar helmet. “Yes?” 

“You okay?” 

There was a long pause. “Yes.” 

Boba was the first to admit he was not particularly adept at reading people, but even he could tell that was bullshit. “Have you gotten any sleep at all?” 

“Some…not much.” The other man’s voice was thick and congested. 

Boba weighed his options, then made a decision. “Crawl in with me. The mattress in that pod was never good…nobody ever used it.” The mattress was almost certainly not the problem, but it was a good enough excuse. He didn’t wait for a response, just crawled into his own bunk and left the door open. He half expected the other man to ignore him, but a few moments later there was movement and another body climbing in behind him. He could hear the regulator on the helmet. 

He hit the switch for the hatch and let it close, then pulled a blanket over them both. Din was pressed into the other side of the bunk, leaving a few inches between them. 

“I’ll disable the lights if you want to take the helmet off.” 

“I’m use to sleeping with it. I didn’t take it off while Grogu was with me.” 

“You slept and ate in a helmet for that long?” 

“Not the first time.” 

“I’m shocked you never developed a pressure ulcer.” 

“I did… a few times… Just kept using bacta and changing the padding.” 

Boba wanted to tell the younger man that this was no way to live. That the Mandalorians who raised him were just extremists. That he could eat and drink and sleep without the karking helmet in his own ship. He didn’t. “Seems uncomfortable, but what do I know. But I hit the switch regardless if you want to sleep without it.” 

There was silence, then the hiss as the helmet disengaged and thunk as it was set on a shelf. 

Neither of them woke until they reached Navarro.


	3. Remittance Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after Grogu's departure, Fennec and Boba get some unexpected visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting as I finish, so expect a few errors here and there.

Had he known that running a criminal empire would require this many accountants, he probably wouldn’t have bothered. There were at least six of them in the throne room, heads bent over a massive table he’d had brought in. Three were in his employ, three and possibly a fourth (Boba wasn’t clear about one of the droids) were from a band of spice traders who were requesting protection. The accountants were hashing out exactly what their protection was worth, and Fennec had long since vanished into the bowels of the castle to do kriff-knew-what. 

It had taken only a few days to turn Gideon in and find a new ship. Boba offered to take Din with them to Tatooine, but he refused, and Boba didn’t argue. He had said he needed to find the other Coverts. Other Mandalorians like him. 

Boba and Fennec left after they took on supplies and fuel.

They hadn't heard from Din or any of the others since. 

Boba was about to nod off in his throne when a protocol droid came scurrying in. 

“Sire, there is a ship requesting permission to land at the palace. The pilot asked to speak with you in private.” 

Boba sighed, but he was secretly thankful to have a reason to leave the room and the endless discussions of prices, distribution costs, and labor disputes. He followed the droid to the small room off the main throne room that usually functioned as storage and shut the door. The droid held up a hand and the connection flashed to life.  
A very harried Koska Reeves appeared. “Fett? You’ve got to let us land. Djarin is bleeding out and our engines are fried. If we don’t get him to a doctor and a bacta tank, he’s dead.” 

“Reeves, how do I know—” 

The other woman held up a small metal ball. “He said to show you this and that you’d know what it was.” 

“Kriff…Alright.” Boba looked at the droid. “Tell port control to let them land at the palace dock. Get Orda and Fennec to meet us up there.”

“Right away.” The droid cut the connection but Fett was already hurrying out the door and up the spiral stairs to the roof. He could hear the dome retracting to allow the ship to dock. Footsteps came up behind him, and a tall human woman with dark skin and curly black hair was soon overtaking him. She had a large bag on her shoulder, and she looked stern. He could hear a medical droid tromping up the stairs behind them. 

“What’s happened now?” Orda Lor Dun was one of the finest doctors in the Outer Rim. She had helped him after encountering him in a Tusken camp, and she had saved Fennec’s life when he found her in the desert. Boba kept her on in the palace to handle any medical emergencies that came up, and she was in the process of creating a hospital in Mos Eisley. 

“There’s a man bleeding out in the ship that’s docking.” He tried to keep his voice calm. His knees were killing him, and he swore under his breath. They emerged onto the roof as the rear hatch of the ship opened. It looked to have been a clone troop carrier at some point, but it had been modified and abused to the point that only the general shape remained. 

Kryze stuck her head out and waved them in. “Hurry, he just lost consciousness!” 

Orda pushed past her into the ship. Boba moved to follow, but he could tell there was barely enough room inside as it was, and the last thing he wanted was to get in the way.  
Orda began swearing loudly. “I need a stretcher now!” 

Boba could hear the distinct sound of bacta canisters whooshing as he turned. A couple of mechanics were milling nearby, unsure what to do. “You two! Stretcher!” 

They scrambled to obey, and one nearly slid off the side of the palace in the process. 

Fennec materialized out of the shadows, eyebrows raised. “I’m glad we got the bacta tanks filled with that last trade run. Looks like we’re going to need it.” 

Boba grunted as the mechanics returned with the battered hover stretcher and guided it inside. He could hear Orda and Kryze barking orders at the men and the droid, then the stretcher emerged and Boba felt physically sick. Djarin was covered in blood, and his chest plate had been removed to reveal a massive gut wound. Boba could hear the distinctive sucking sound of damaged lungs as well. 

Orda and the droid were pushing the stretcher at a sprint, heading for the cargo lift at the other end of the dock. Boba moved to follow, but Fennec grabbed his arm. “Stop. You’ll just get in the way. We’ll take the stairs.” 

He wanted to throw a punch, but he resisted the urge. His lieutenant was right, much as he hated to admit it. 

Reeves emerged from the ship, clutching Djarin’s chest plate, the spear, and the darksaber. She looked pale. 

“What. Happened.” Boba yanked his helmet off to look at her. 

“We…we were on Naboo. He found a Covert hiding out in some abandoned Gungan town in a swamp and…we were hoping to talk to them. See if there was any chance of an alliance. Everything was pretty tense, but nobody was reaching for blasters. Then some bastard comes storming in, shouting that Din and the rest of us were traitors who helped a Jedi take a foundling and he starts shooting. Next thing we know, there are a dozen crazy extremists pinning Din down as he tries to fight them off with the darksaber to give the rest of us time to escape. Someone pops a smoke grenade and we all make a run for it and get to the ship, and that’s when we realize he’s been stabbed and half-gutted by something.” 

Fennec glances at him, then back to Reeves. “Why come here?” 

“Djarin told us to head for the old palace. Said you’d either help him or put him out of his misery.”


	4. One Particular Harbor

When they made it down to the medical bay, it was to find chaos. Orda was barking orders at multiple medical droids as she and Bo-Katan unfastened armor and removed it as fast as they could. Boba was shocked that Kryze was as calm and efficient as the doctor in the situation, but then again she’d had cause to handle her fair share of injuries over the years. There was blood and bacta all over the floor, making it slick. Orda was struggling with Din’s helmet, trying to remove it. 

“Leave his helmet!” 

Orda looked up at him. “He’s going in a bacta tank and he needs to be intubated. It’s his helmet or his life, Fett. I can’t intubate the man through beskar.” 

“It’s his Creed—” 

“Fett, you really think he’d want to die and leave Grogu?” Kryze’s voice was shockingly level and reasonable. 

He swallowed, trying to resist the urge to argue with the princess when, for once, she was speaking sensibly. “Fine.” 

Bo-Katan nodded, leaning over to disengage the latches. Orda pulled the helmet off and immediately grabbed a bunch of equipment that looked like a torture device. A droid held Din’s head back as she began to insert the tube. 

Fett told himself he should look away. That Din hadn’t given him permission. But he couldn’t stop himself from staring. The man’s face was far more handsome than he’d expected. In other circumstances, he would have given anything to run his fingers through Din’s filthy hair... try and comfort the other man through what had to be a horribly painful procedure, even while unconscious. He held himself back, though, trying to remain stoic. It wouldn’t do for any of the others to realize that Boba Fett, ruler of Tatooine and infamous bounty hunter, was emotionally compromised by the injuries to one idiot Mandalorian. 

Orda finished intubating him as the medical droids and Bo-Katan finished getting him undressed, cutting away the suit and padding under his armor. He apparently did not wear underwear. The massive hole in his side looked to have been made with some kind of serrated blade, and it wasn’t the only injury. One of his arms was clearly broken in two places, and there were bruises on his head, legs, and back. A droid was rinsing the worst of the blood and filth off of him with some sterile cleanser as another droid prepped the bacta tank behind them.

Fennec touched his arm. “Boba… we’re in the way.” 

He nodded and pulled his own helmet back on, then began to gather Din’s discarded armor off of the floor. Fennec helped him, then motioned to Reeves to follow them as they headed for Boba’s workroom at the back of the palace. 

Boba wasn’t a doctor and couldn’t do much to help save Djarin’s life, but he could at least get the man’s armor cleaned and repaired.   
It was something to do. 

***  
“…we’ll move him to that side room between you and Fennec, if you’re worried about it.” 

“Can you move the bacta tank with him in it?” 

“Yes, that’s why I insisted on this model. They’re portable. Not quick or easy to move, but doable, and if he’s in danger, better to ensure he’s not in a public part of the palace.”   
Din’s head was pounding. He could hear voices around him, but everything sounded muffled…like he was under water. He was floating, and everything hurt. 

He heard a loud beep, then footsteps. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Karking sedation is too light. He’s coming around. I’m upping the dosage again. He’s a stubborn son of a bitch, I’ll give him that.”   
Din wanted to open his eyes…tell the person talking not to put him under again, but he wasn’t fast enough, and he slipped back down into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only a bit into Clone Wars, so my characterization of Bo-Katan may be inaccurate.


	5. Come Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba questions his medic's credentials. Din wakes up.

“You staring at him is not going to wake him up any sooner.” 

Only long years of training kept Boba from jumping out of his skin when Orda came up behind him. It was late, and he and Fennec had spent most of the day sorting out exactly what had happened on Naboo, and how much of it was likely to follow Djarin here. Orda had moved the bacta tank far from the prying eyes in the palace, and the few members of his staff who had seen the Mandalorians were given very clear orders to keep their mouths shut. “I was just lost in thought.” 

She smiled. “I’m sure. But you need to get some sleep yourself. And take your medications…I can hear you knees across the palace.” 

He glared at her, but there wasn’t much venom in it. The Tusken tribe who found him had done their best and had unquestionably saved his life, but it was Orda who made him functional again, and it was Orda who saved Fennec. He had no idea how old she was or where she’d come from, and with her knowledge of clones, he was always afraid he wouldn’t like the answer if he asked. “Thought you were going to fix my knees for good.” 

“I’m going to do a cybernetic replacement when you agree to be out of commission for a week so you can recuperate.” She glanced at the naked man floating in the bacta tank. “Of course, we’ll have to get him sorted out first.” She looked back at Boba, eyebrow raised. “Does he even know you’re in love with him?” 

He inhaled and choked on his own saliva. 

“I’ll take that as no.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh yes, I’m sure. What ever could I mean?” She rolled her eyes. “Boba…I know. Fennec knows. Pretty sure both those female Mandalorians know. My karking medical droids know. Seems the only one who doesn’t know is the poor bastard in the bacta tank with a massive hole in his guts.” She sat down at her console and began to read something. “From his vitals, I’d say we’ll decant him from the bacta in maybe two days. Give him another two or three to recover, then tell him you’re smitten with him, do whatever it is Mandalorians do to get married, and drag him into your quarters. Fennec said she’d bet her best speeder that he feels the same.” 

He tried stare her down, but it was hard strike fear in the woman who knew more about his body than he did. “I do wonder how you got a medical license.” 

“Who says I have a medical license? This is Tatooine, not Coruscant. Nobody has ever asked to see my credentials, and I’ve been patching up the varied congress of scum and villainy on this planet for damn near a decade.” 

“…I suppose that’s true.” He resisted the urge to laugh. 

“Nobody respectable is going to choose to work out here.” 

He paused, then squeezed her shoulder. “I’m thankful you aren’t respectable, then.” Boba turned to leave. 

“Boba…I’m serious. Tell him.”

He didn’t turn around, just nodded and left. 

***

Din Djarin had never been in a bacta tank before. Bacta was expensive and it was frequently impossible to acquire in the Outer Rim. Few Mandalorians he knew relied on it. 

He was, therefore, entirely unprepared for the sensation of waking up from sedation naked, in a tank full of the stuff, with something strapped to his face and something else down his throat. His limbs still felt heavy and his head was fuzzy. He had no clue where he was, and the world outside the tank was blurry and unfamiliar. He clawed at the contraption on his face. 

“Stop, stop, stop!” A woman’s voice ordered. He heard the seals on the top of the tank disengaging and swam upward through the soupy, slimy substance. “Kriffing stubborn bastard…” 

He felt another round of drugs hit his system and he fought them, but the blackness swallowed him again as a pair of human hands grabbed him. 

By the time the drugs wore off again, he was laying in a bed, dressed in a loose shirt and pants, and whatever had been strapped to his face was gone. His throat felt horrible, and he was starving, but the pain in his side was only a dull ache, and his arms and legs seemed to be obeying him. 

“Next time you wake up in a bacta tank? Don’t try to extubate yourself.” The female voice from before chided him. 

He opened his eyes, but the light was painfully bright and he quickly shut them again. 

“Hold on, I’ll turn it down. You’ve been in the bacta for three days and we just decanted you a few minutes ago…your eyes and everything else are going to be sensitive for a bit.” 

He could see the lights dim through his eyelids and chanced opening them again to look at the woman next to him. 

She pulled his eyelids open and waved some kind of sensor over him. “My name is Orda and you’re on Tatooine in the old Hutt palace. I’m Fett’s medic. I told them all you’re up so I’m sure they’ll all come stomping in here in a second.” 

Din coughed. “How bad was it?” 

Orda raised an eyebrow. “You nearly bled out before we could get you into the bacta, and you had a nasty infection. You’ll be okay, but it was a near miss. Don’t try to get up, your muscles are going to feel like pudding for a day or so.” 

He could hear footsteps thundering outside, then the door slid open to reveal Bo-Katan and Koska. Koska looked visibly relieved, and even Bo-Katan seemed to relax when she saw him out of the bacta and awake. 

“Dank Farrik, Din, you scarred us.” Koska came further into the room. 

“I’m going check on some other patients. Don’t let him get up, he can have whatever he wants to eat. If he needs the fresher, call a droid. Boba and Fennec should be back soon.” Orda slid out behind the other two women and vanished. 

“What happened?” Din pushed himself to sit up, waving Koska off. “Where’s my armor?” 

Bo-Katan crossed her arms. “The entire Covert on Naboo turned on you because one lunatic started yelling about the Jetti and Grogu and someone nearly gutted you in the fray. If Fett and Shand didn’t have the bacta tanks, you’d be dead.”   
Koska opened a trunk at the end of the bed and showed him his armor. “The spear is in the corner. Fett and I cleaned and fixed what we could of your armor. He didn’t want them to remove your helmet, but Orda said you couldn’t go into the bacta without—” 

“It’s…” Din swallowed and looked down, stomach clenched with anxiety. “I can’t protect Grogu if I’m dead.” 

Bo-Katan nodded. “I am sorry. We had to make a choice. For what it’s worth, the only two people who saw you here who hadn’t seen you on the ship were Orda and Boba. And some droids.” 

“I’m already dar’manda. It doesn’t matter.” 

Bo-Katan’s mouth pulled into a thin line, but she didn’t comment. She and Din did not necessarily like each other, but there was a grudging respect on both sides. She could have challenged him for the darksaber at any time, but she shook her head any time the subject came up. 

Koska pulled his buy'ce out of the trunk and set it on the small table next to him. “What do you want to eat?” 

“Anything.” His stomach growled loudly. 

Koska smiled. “We’ll see what’s in the kitchens. Fett and Shand were negotiating with the Jawas but I’m sure they’ll be back soon.” She and Bo-Katan made their exit, leaving him alone in the small room. There were computers and equipment pushed up against the wall with the bacta tank. The bed, desk, and trunk all looked old and expensive. Not like anything you’d find in a sick bay. Koska returned a few minutes later and set a massive tray of food on his lap. 

“We have to head to a rendezvous, but we’ll be back in a day or so.” She paused. “Bo won’t say it, but she’s glad you made it.” 

“Would’ve made it easier to take the darksaber if she’d been a little slower getting here.” 

Koska shook her head but didn't bother to argue with him. Her hatred of Boba notwithstanding, Koska was friendly. It had been Koska who explained Boba's joke about his face...Koska who told him about the entire complex history of the Clone Wars. Koska who, one night in hyperspace while Bo-Katan was asleep, told him that he was destined to be king whether he liked it or not. 

He ate as much as he could, then set the tray aside and lay down to sleep some more. He was exhausted and sore and the bed was comfortable. He felt naked without his helmet, but it felt pointless, and his head was sore enough that the extra weight would make it impossible to sleep. 

Din had no idea how long he’d been dozing when the sound of boots and the whoosh of the door make him open his eyes. 

Boba entered the room, filthy and sagging from exhaustion under his armor. Fennec was also covered in dust and dirt, trailing slightly behind Boba, her own helmet under her arm. 

“We came as soon as we got the message. Thought you were going to be out for another day or two.” Boba sounded terrible. His voice was rougher than usual and sounded almost painful. 

“I woke up while they were pulling me out of the bacta. Had to knock me out again temporarily.” 

Fennec raised an eyebrow. “Bet Orda was unhappy. She was pulling out her hair keeping your sedated.” 

Din shrugged. “Did you get what you wanted from the Jawas?” 

“As much as anyone ever gets from Jawas,” Boba replies. "We went through a sandstorm on the way back. Filters on my helmet are busted. 

“Do you need anything?” Fennec glances at the remains of his dinner. “Water?” 

“No, I’m okay.” 

“Good. Then go back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” Fennec shot a look at Boba, and the older man followed her out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created Orda to tie some things together and fill some plot holes. Bear with me.


	6. It's My Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba is still an idiot. It's Din's turn for a dressing-down from Orda.

Din woke the next day feeling nearly normal. Of course, given how many fights he’d been in throughout his life, feeling like he’d been trampled by a bantha _was_ normal. His muscles and nerves were obeying his brain, and he wasn’t out of breath just sitting up in bed. Someone had left a fresh tray of food by his bed, and he could hear footsteps and voices through the walls as the palace began its day. A medical droid watched him from a corner. He wasn’t thrilled about its presence, but he suspected that if he complained, he would get nowhere. It helped him to the fresher and then to a chair beside a table so he could eat.

Nobody had ever really looked after him like this before. Even after Navarro, he’d just smeared more bacta on his head and gone to bed. Nobody fussed over him. Medics in the Coverts were not known for their bedside manner. Fett was devoting resources to him, and Din was trying not to think about how uncomfortable he felt about that.

Orda swept into the room a few minutes later, looking harried. “Oh good, you’re u. Excellent.” She grabbed a datapad and began to skim through it. “You’re probably still feeling weak, but that’s normal. Any changes in your pain?”

“No…I’m fine.”

“You’re still exhausted. I can see you getting sleepy from here. Finish eating and get some more sleep.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand. “I have been made aware of your history and how you take care of yourself, Djarin, though of course, I could have guessed based on how many times you appear to have cauterized your own wounds. You’re not going to sneak out of here and go catch bounties. Go back to sleep or I’ll post an IG unit in here instead of a nurse droid.”

Din wanted to argue, but something about the set of the woman’s mouth and her eyes told him that this was not a fight he would win. He nodded.

“Good. You’ll be back to knocking heads and plotting for an invasion of Mandalore soon.”

***

“…Glad to see you listen about _something_.”

“What if something happens while I’m out of commission?”

“I can manage for a week without you, especially if Djarin sticks around a while.”

“You’re welcome to wait until your knees both give out completely in a firefight.”

“Fine, order the damn supplies. We’ll do it during sandstorm season. Less action.”

“I’ll get ahold of some of my old contacts. I assume _someone_ will have what I need or will know how to fabricate it. I know the Republic had the schematics somewhere.”

Din woke up and rolled over to find Boba leaning against the wall in his black pants and shirt, blaster at his waist. He was talking to Fennec, who sat on top of Orda’s desk, and Orda, who was making notes on a data pad. Din sat up. Judging by the light, it was night again. The three of them turned to look at him, then Boba abruptly straightened, muttered something about a meeting, and headed out the door. Fennec, glanced between him and Din, then looked at Orda and followed Boba out. Din tried not to feel hurt by the strange behavior. 

Orda rolled her eyes, then looked at Din. “Hungry?”

“No…no I’m fine. Just need the fresher.”

Orda jerked her head at the droid, and it followed him. “You look steady, but just in case.”

He didn’t argue. His legs didn’t feel like they were about to collapse anymore, and he decided to clean up a bit with a cloth and some water from the sink. Someone had gotten most of the bacta off of him, but not all of it, and he felt a hundred times better after he scrubbed the residue off. There was what appeared to be honest-to-stars water in the fresher for a shower, but that seemed too decadent to even contemplate.

He pulled the clothes back on and left the fresher, leaning down to rummage through the trunk with his armor.

“Boba said something about getting a new armorweave undersuit made for you. The old one wasn’t salvageable.”

Din didn’t respond. He found his belt with all its pouches and sighed with relief when the ball for the shifter of the Razor Crest was still in its spot. He knew objectively that the little ball held no real value, and he also knew that none of the others would have knowingly misplaced it. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to worry.

Satisfied, he grabbed his helmet and pulled it on, then pulled his blaster and tool kit out. It looked to already be clean, but he needed something to do. He worked in silence for a long time. The only sounds were from his tools and Orda’s typing.

Why had Boba run? Was he disgusted with Din for having been injured? Had Din said something? Done something? It didn’t make sense. He had been looking at Orda with an odd expression before he realized Din was awake…did it mean something? What relationship did they have beyond the obvious?

Finally, desperate to get away from his own thoughts, he spoke. “Were you part of the Republic?”

Orda hesitated, then shrugged, but she didn’t look up from her console. “I was. I left before it dissolved.” 

“Why?”

“Differences of opinion. I was getting tired of being told what to do and what to believe at every turn.”

Din looked back down at his disassembled blaster. “Was it difficult?”

Now he could feel her eyes on him, but he didn’t look up from the tiny mechanisms he was disassembling. She couldn’t read his facial expression through the helmet anyway.

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was the easiest decision I’ve ever made, contradictory as that sounds. I lost friends and had to find a new place in the galaxy, but I was free to make my own choices for the first time since childhood. I could decide where to go, what to eat, what to wear. Nobody ordered me to do things I didn’t agree with.” She resumed typing after a few long moments. 

Din turned the words over in his mind. 

“You saved Boba. And Fennec. Why?”

She stopped typing again. “Because sometimes when you give someone a second chance, they do interesting things with that opportunity.”

He stayed silent for a minute, reassembling the tiny firing mechanism that Boba had meticulously cleaned already. “Were you and Fett…” He glanced up but made sure not to move his helmet.

Orda laughed. “Kriff, no. Where would you get that idea?”

He shrugged; thankful the helmet hid his blush. “He seemed tense earlier. I wasn’t sure why.”

She stopped laughing immediately. “I see… No, Din, he was not hanging around here acting like that because of me. I’m not exactly to his taste, nor is he to mine.”

He swallowed, waiting.

“He barely left this room when they first brought you in, you know. Snappish, barely talked, left only long enough to get supplies to clean and fix your armor. He only went back to his duties when we were reasonably sure you were going to live. So no, Din, I’m not why he was hanging around here.”

“Oh.”

She sighed, paused, and then seemed to come to a decision. “I honestly thought you two were already together, and that’s why Bo dragged you all the way over here rather than finding another medic closer in. I just figured you were both trying to keep it quiet from the others.”

He felt lightheaded at the word ‘both’ and had to set the blaster down to hide his hands shaking.

A knock at the door and someone yelling got Orda out of her seat, but she turned before she left. “I can’t tell you what to do. But none of us know how long we have. You’re walking well and you don’t look like you’re about to pass out, so you’re off of bedrest, just don’t leave this wing of the palace. You’re not strong enough to fight anyone. And don’t try to wear your karking beskar.” 

The door opened and shut behind her, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 


	7. The Pascagoula Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din makes several decisions in rapid succession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna earn that Explicit now. I am working full time so I have a lot less time to edit these things myself, so you'll have to forgive any issues.

Din had contemplated ignoring Orda, but he didn’t have anything to wear under his armor. Wandering around in just his helmet and the clothes they’d given him seemed ridiculous. Leaving the room without his helmet made him feel physically ill. He settled on looking ridiculous, though he did grab his boots so at least he wasn’t barefoot.

The hallway outside of his room led to stairs at either end. He had realized that he must be in a tower of some kind since the walls were curved, and he tried to summon his memories of the layout of the Hutt Palace. He had delivered bounties here before, but it had been years.

He contemplated the stairs, debating where he was likely to find Boba at this time of night.

Footsteps on the lower landing made him tense and shift back to the door of the empty room, but he quickly relaxed when he saw it was Fennec.

“Did Orda give you permission to be up?”

“Yes.” His tone was only slightly defensive.

“Hmm.” She stopped a few feet from him. She was clearly dressed for bed in a robe and loose pants, though he had no doubt that there were weapons hidden somewhere on her person. He had the impression that the palace was still not entirely under Fett’s control. She was carrying a cup of tea. “He’s in his workshop. Down two floors. I’ll be on the upper balcony for a while, enjoying the evening.”

Din briefly debated lying and saying he was just exploring, but he realized immediately it was pointless. Fennec was intelligent and observant. She knew what was going on. “Thank you.”

“Any time. Just don’t be too loud with the windows open unless you want the entire palace to gossip about you for the rest of the cycle.”

“…Noted.”

She nodded, then passed him. 

Din followed her instructions and went down two floors. The door to the workshop was closed, but he could hear the clink and shuffle of someone rummaging through a bunch of tools. He knocked.

“Enter.”

Din felt his guts in his throat, but he pushed the button to open the door and walked through.

“Boba.”

“Din.” The older man didn’t look up from where he was tinkering with his helmet. “I’m surprised Orda let you out of her sight.”

“She had to go handle a cooking oil explosion, from what I could hear.”

“Ahh. Well, you’ve got a bit of a reprieve then.”

Din moved closer. He had been raised by anonymous men and women in helmets, and he had learned to read body language and voices, but his time with Bo and the others had dulled his skills. He was used to seeing faces and reading expressions now.

Boba was tinkering with the seals on the bottom of his helmet, and Din could see where the problem was. Two of the gaskets looked like they were cracked, and Boba was trying to remove them.

“Explains why you got a lungful of sand.”

“An experience I’m not eager to repeat. Feels like I deepthroated a wire brush.”

Din choked on a laugh.

Boba looked at him askance. “I’m glad someone thinks I’m funny. Fennec certainly doesn’t.”

“I didn’t know you were a clone, or I would have laughed at your joke on Morak.” Din paused. “I only met a handful of clones, and they were…”

“Old?”

“Yes.”

“They aged at around double the normal rate, and most of them were…decommissioned not long after the Emperor took power. I’m the only clone of Jango Fett who wasn’t altered to age faster. Though, as Orda likes to remind me, I still have a plethora of genetic issues inherent to the process of cloning a fully grown adult human, none of which were improved by spending time in a Sarlacc.”

“Like your knees.”

Boba snorted. The first gasket finally popped free, and he examined it. “No, my knees are shot because of a lot of bad landings. I used the jetpack a lot without actually being good at it.”

Din handed Boba a new gasket from the other side of the workbench. “I never said thank you.”

Boba went silent again, intent on securing the replacement gasket on his helmet.

Din watched him work at the second gasket, then carefully pulled his own helmet off and set it on the other end of the workbench.

Boba stopped and looked at it, then looked at him.

“I…” Din swallowed. He felt nauseous. “I think there’s something we should resolve.”

Boba sighed and seemed to sag against the metal and stone workbench. “Orda ran her mouth.”

“I asked…she…thought we were already…” Din looked down and prodded at a set of tools. He could feel his face getting red. He wasn’t used to people being able to see him blush.

“I see.”

Din heard the older man move closer to him and looked up. 

Their eyes met, and Din resisted the urge to look away. There was…fear. Vulnerability. It was well-hidden but it was definitely there in the older man’s eyes.

“I hated the fact I first saw your face against your will. I was jealous of Fennec and Dune for months after we parted ways. The longer you were awake and out of the bacta, the more guilt I felt about it.”

“If you had asked—”

“I couldn’t ask anything of you when you were grieving the loss of your child for the second time in as many weeks.”

“You’re the reason he made it safely to the Jedi. You had every right to ask. I failed to keep my Creed twice by that point… It might have…we might have figured things out sooner.” He knew he was tripping over his words, but he couldn’t seem to slow down.

Boba shook his head. “You needed time. Time to come to terms with everything.” Boba swallowed hard. “Time to decide if you really wanted to look at this mess constantly.” He gestured to the scars on his face.

“If you think I wouldn’t be happy to see your face for the rest of my life, you haven’t been listening.”

They were both frozen for a long moment, then Boba slowly shifted and began to pull his gloves off. He dropped them next to his helmet and put a hand on Din’s face and pulled him in to touch their foreheads together.

“I would not have tolerated Bo-Katan showing up here for any other reason, but I was…” Boba swallowed. His voice was low and still rough from the sandstorm. “I was thankful. That she chose to bring you here. I was terrified we might lose you, guilty that we’d taken something from you without your consent, but…stars help me I was so thankful to see you again. I was so thankful that I could protect you—” 

Din couldn’t handle hearing Boba anguished and closed the distance between them. He had never kissed anyone in his life, had no idea what he was doing, but at that moment he had no idea how else to convey that he understood and appreciated all of the things the older man was trying to say.

Boba quickly took control, burying a hand in Din’s hair and using it to change the angle. He hadn’t had a lot of practice, and he certainly hadn’t kissed a man taller than him by over 10cm, but with a little experimentation, they found a way to make it work.

They broke apart to breathe eventually but their foreheads remained pressed together. Both of them were panting. They were pressed close, and even though several layers of fabric, certain things were obvious.

“I don’t…we didn’t believe in…being with someone…without marrying them. I had some…indiscretions when I was younger, but…”

“My father had views about casual encounters. Views I took to heart. I was married, had a daughter. Things ended between us a long time ago. Beyond that…” Boba hesitated. “Few and far between.”

Din’s eyes searched Boba’s. “You follow a lot of Mandalorian customs for someone who says he isn’t a Mandalorian.”

“I told you, I’m just a simple man making his way in the galaxy.”

Din laughed and kissed him again. “You’re many things, Boba, but simple is not one of them.”

Boba slid his hand down Din’s waist. “Is that what you want, then? This isn’t a decision that needs to be made today. I don’t want you to regret it. You’re still—”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.” Boba didn’t hesitate.

“If Grogu returns to me, would you love him as your own? Treat him as your own?”

“Of course. He’s your son. I’d treat any foundlings as our own.”

Din nodded slowly. He had not been certain of many things in his life, and he should not have been sure of Boba Fett, but he was. He leaned down, pressing their foreheads into a _kov'nyn_ again. “ _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”_

 _“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde._ ” Boba repeated, chest tight, eyes burning. 

Boba laughed, the solemnity of the moment broken. “Now that that’s settled, I think you should put your helmet back on so we can get out of this workshop and go back to my rooms.”

Din grabbed the helmet and pulled it back on. Boba grabbed his own helmet, half-fixed, and led the way.

***

They hurried into the suite, through the sitting area, and into the bedroom, where Boba set the lock. Din yanked his helmet off again and crowded into Boba’s space, pressing him against the wall and leaning down to kiss him again. Boba threaded his fingers through Din’s hair, enjoying how soft it was. His hair, when he’d had it, had been thicker and much more coarse.

“You can’t let me hurt you.” Boba broke away and nosed at Din’s neck. He still smelled faintly of bacta, and it made Boba pause, remembering the situation.

“I’m fine. I feel like I could fight another krayt dragon right now.”

Boba paused, resisting the joke he was now fairly certain Din had set up so he’d get distracted. “I’m serious, Din. You were bleeding out four days ago.”

Din pressed his lips against Boba’s head. “I know _cyar’ika_. But Orda all but said I was cleared. If something starts to hurt, I’ll tell you.”

Boba didn’t believe him, but it would have to be good enough. He resolved to watch the other man like a hawk. Orda had basically told him to do exactly what he was doing, in his defense. He began to suck and bite at Din’s neck in response.

Din was running his fingers around the edges of his armor, looking for the catches that would remove it. It was systematic, and he was finding them quickly. Boba was not inclined to stop him, though he did herd Din towards the alcove in his room where he usually stored his armor. He would never have allowed anyone else to remove his armor but allowing Din to do it didn’t bother him. It seemed only fair, under the circumstances. He helped as much as Din would let him, and before long he was out of his armor and removing his clothes. Din took the hint and did away with his own shirt and pants, and Boba felt tempted to pinch himself.

Din was…extremely attractive. He’d been aware of that fact for a long time, even without seeing the man’s face, but he had studiously ignored it as much as possible. He had been especially careful not to admire Din while the man was in bacta, vulnerable and out of his element. Now, having somehow married the idiot, he was free to look his fill without guilt. The other man was covered with scars from years of lackluster medical care and he was unnervingly thin, both of which bothered him to no end. Din’s inability to accept help, comfort, or anything but the barest resources for himself was not something Boba was going to tolerate if he had any say in the matter.

“What? Something wrong?” Din was bright red and not meeting Boba’s eyes.

He moved closer and put a hand on Din’s face, gently urging Din to look at him. “No. I was just contemplating how I’m never letting you out of my sight without a gallon of bacta and enough high-quality ration bars to last you a year. You’re mine. I won’t let you do without again.”

Din hesitantly put his arms around Boba’s waist and put their foreheads together. The initial burst of arousal had faded, and in its place, there was the quiet hesitance of two inexperienced men trying not to make a mistake. “I’d argue with you, but…”

“It wouldn’t work.”

Din snorted and leaned down to kiss him. It was softer and slower this time. They moved closer, and Boba was almost overwhelmed by the feeling of being pressed against another naked body. Din was shaking slightly, clearly not unaffected by the situation. If they’d been sensible, they probably would have gone slower, but Boba wasn’t entirely convinced this wasn't a dream or hallucination. 

Din was tentatively running his hands over Boba’s back and hips, pausing slightly when he found particularly bad knots of scar tissue from the Sarlacc then moving along.

“They don’t hurt. Nerves only partially regrew in a lot of them, but they’re mostly just stiff when it’s cold.” He wasn’t sure why he was explaining this, other than the fact he felt he needed to. He had given Din the abridged version of his life on one of the long flights between planets before they fought Gideon, but he had not elaborated more than necessary, and Din hadn’t asked.

Din spread his hand over a large knot of scar tissue on his back and left it there. The sensation was muted a little by the nerve damage, but it was there. “We probably shouldn’t be standing around naked in a cold room, should we?”

“I wasn’t planning on staying here all night.”

“Oh? You had other plans?” Din did a little half-grin that had no right to be as endearing as it was.

Considering his options, Boba responded by toppling the taller man onto the large bed, then crawling on top of him. It startled a laugh out of Din, which was what he’d been hoping for. They both needed to get out of their heads.

“You are too kriffing handsome for your own good, Djarin.” He sat up slightly. His cock was taking interest in the proceedings again, and Din was half-hard under him. He rolled his hips.

Din groaned and thrust up slightly and blushed again, but his hands were running over Boba’s thighs and ass with decidedly less shyness than there had been a minute ago. He slid a hand down Din’s chest, and it was immediately apparent that Din enjoyed the sensation. Being raised by a fanatical cult for the vast majority of his life, it wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t had a lot of people touching him. Fewer even than Boba. Din’s dick was much like the rest of him: long and attractive. It wasn’t particularly thick, but it was proportional to the rest of the man. Boba’s was, by contrast, only slightly shorter and substantially thicker.

Boba grinned and shifted, kissing Din hard. Din opened for him and made a quiet, needy noise. His hands were all over Boba now, and he was pulling Boba in close until Boba was laying completely on top of him, unwilling to let Boba keep any of his weight on his arms despite Boba’s attempts to avoid crushing him. Boba was grinding down, their cocks trapped between them, both of them hard and leaking now.

“What do you like? How do you want this?” Boba finally managed to ask, kissing down Din’s neck to suck a bruise on the other man’s neck. 

“Not really sure…” Din gasped out. One of his hands was running all over Boba’s back, the other was at Boba’s head. “Just want you.”

Boba’s throat was tight. “You have me. Stars, Din. You have me.” He sat up and rummaged through the nightstand, patience gone. He quickly found the bottle of lubricating oil he knew he’d thrown in there. “I’m going to ride you unless you tell me to stop.”

Din let out a strangled laugh. “Never.” He was still running his hands all over Boba with a kind of frantic reverence. Like he was as afraid as Boba was that he’d wake up from this alone.

“Later I’m going to stretch you out on my fingers while I suck you off, and then I’ll fuck you until you scream, but right now I can’t wait, and I suspect it’ll take a lot of prep for you to take me.”

“I haven’t…used my fingers…in a long time… So, you’re probably right.”

Boba wished he still had eyebrows to raise as he sat back to look at Din. “But you have fingered yourself before?” He opened the bottle and lubed up his own fingers, reaching behind himself to prep his ass.

Din swallowed hard. “Yes…” His eyes were fixed on Boba’s hands.

“Good to know.”

Din seemed to snap out of his reverie, and he grabbed the discarded bottle of lube to coat his own fingers. “Let me…”

Boba hesitated, then removed his fingers. Din quickly replaced them, and Boba shuddered. He had, of course, had moments of weakness…times he had slept with random strangers over the years. If Din hadn’t been clear about wanting a partnership, Boba would have probably just accepted whatever Din was willing to give and would have been happy with it.

Din was being far more careful than necessary, but Boba appreciated it. It was…nice. Nice to be treated like he was worthy of care and consideration. One finger, then two, stretching and seeking until they finally found Boba’s prostate and began systematically attacking it. Din’s other hand came up and began stroking his cock, and Boba had to swat him away.

“You do that and I’m going to come.”

Din’s eyes were dark and he swallowed hard. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He rubbed Boba’s prostate again more firmly and smirked.

“I’m stretched enough,” Boba said gruffly, grabbing the lube to coat Din’s cock.

Din removed his fingers and put both hands on Boba’s hips, steadying him.

Boba knew he wasn’t going to be able to ride Din like this for long. His knees were already hurting and wouldn’t take much more of this abuse. He briefly considered flipping them and letting Din do the work, but the idea of turning over that control was…unappealing. He knew Din wouldn’t go too fast or hurt him, but Boba preferred to be in control nonetheless, at least in the beginning. He lined himself up on Din’s cock and began to lower himself down.

“Dank farrik, Boba…” Din was looking at him with reverence and affection and a dozen other emotions. He was clutching Boba’s hips hard enough to bruise, but not trying to pull Boba down or affect his pace.

Boba put his hands on Din’s chest for stability as he finally bottomed out and felt Din’s balls against his ass. He let out a breath hadn’t meant to hold. He shifted and began to rise before sinking again slowly. It was more overwhelming than his other encounters. The emotions involved were threatening to swamp him, at least until his left knee gave a loud crack, and he winced.

“Boba…” Din had released his death grip on Boba’s hips, and he looked concerned.

“I’m fine…I’m fine…”

Din looked at him for a long second, and then Boba felt the other man shift, Din’s entire body tensing as he flipped their positions. Boba fought his instincts to grapple with Din over the change in positions, well aware that Din had no intention of harming him, and his knees were going to thank him later.

“Liar.” Din kissed him again, gentle and slow. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Boba put a hand in Din’s hair and tugged lightly. “One of us cheated death a few days ago and it was not me.”

“And now I’m repaying your kindness.” Din adjusted until he was on his knees with Boba’s legs around his waist and began to thrust, slowly at first, adjusting slightly until he was thrusting into Boba’s prostate and causing the older man to writhe and gasp. Boba put his arms up to brace himself against the headboard as Din’s pace accelerated.

“That’s it, Din, fuck me like you mean it.” He felt the familiar coiling as Din sent him closer and closer to the edge. His cock was leaking precum all over his stomach, and he was trying to figure out how to keep braced while getting a hand on his dick.

Din huffed and, seemingly reading Boba’s mind, reached down to stroke Boba’s cock in time with his thrusts. “You look so good like this…love your arms flexed like that…could come just looking at you flexing like that…”

Boba had not expected the compliment, let alone the dirty talk, from someone as taciturn as Din. His orgasm came crashing down and his back arched as Din’s hand milked him through it. Din had lost his rhythm and was thrusting more haphazardly for a minute longer, then he came, shuddering and panting into Boba. He collapsed a second later, managing to land just to the side of Boba on the bed.

They were both silent for a long minute, then Boba shifted to look into Din’s expressive, soulful face. Boba was struck with the surreal thought that only a handful of people in the entire galaxy knew what Din looked like at all, and he was probably the only sentient being who knew what he looked like in a moment of postcoital bliss. It was humbling and hilarious all at once, and he pushed his forehead to Din’s again and fought the urge to fall asleep. 

“I love you,” Din murmured. “I’m eternally grateful I found your armor, and you found me.”

Boba swallowed a lump in his throat. “I love you too.”

Din grinned, then pecked a quick kiss to Boba’s lips and got up to go to the fresher. Boba heard the water running, but he was losing his fight with sleep, and barely registered Din wiping the drying cum off his stomach and pulling the blankets over them both. Boba had never thought of himself as a cuddly or physically affectionate person, but his last thought before he drifted off to sleep completely was that having Din pressed against his back was nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all the comments, they've really made my day a few times when the last two weeks got shitty. 
> 
> Points to the first person in the comments to recognize my stupid chapter titles for what they are.


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